


Call of the Wolf

by myriddin



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, F/M, Remix, Reunions, Sexual Content, Werewolf Culture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-12
Updated: 2016-09-12
Packaged: 2018-08-14 13:57:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8016715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myriddin/pseuds/myriddin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the Jon/Sansa Remix, based on Elena Michaels/Clayton from Bitten/Women of the Otherworld. When shapeshifter Jon Snow returns to the estate of his foster family (and the territory belonging to his pack), the last thing he expected was to encounter the impossible in the woods: a female werewolf. Especially when the impossible turns out to be closer to home than he thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Call of the Wolf

**Author's Note:**

> This is definitely drawn more from the TV series Bitten (I prefer that Clay a lot more) than anything else.

Driving through the night had never been one of his better virtues. As each stretch of highway rushed passed him in a perpetual blur of painted lines and black-tar asphalt, the hypnotic lure of the same, monotonous rhythm had Professor Jon Snow constantly temped to pull over and find a motel room for the night, lest he finally give in to the drowsy pull of his eyelids.

Still, there was an even stronger force egging him on to keep on driving, to push past his exhaustion and continue his journey down the lonely stretches of road. Each green sign denoting distances to his intended destination brought about jumbled mixtures of anticipation and joy, anxiousness and wistful longing.

He stopped for a coffee, wincing at the metallic taste of the mediocre brew as it passed his lips. He pointedly ignored the perplexed stare of the gas station attendant when he marched in like a man on a mission, draining the first cup and quickly filled it again, paying quickly and storming out, all in under five minutes.

He wasn’t a stranger to the strange looks his supernatural metabolism tended to garner.

As he passed the sign welcoming him back to the county of his birth and upbringing, he couldn’t help but smile. And as he drew closer to the gates of Winterfell, his smile grew, as did the feeling of calm and belonging that filled every part of him.

He enjoyed when things were peaceful, when the mutts were quiet and he had the time to travel, to tour and lecture, but there was always something inside pulling him toward, something deep and innate that enveloped the feelings of _pack_ and _family_ and _home_.

Restlessness settled underneath his skin as he climbed out of his car, taking in the thicket of trees closest to him. The estate was quiet and shadowed, the woods dark and deep in the pre-dawn hour. They called to him in a way he couldn’t resist, not after how long he’d been away.

His body made the decision for him even before his mind had caught up, his fingers going to his shirt buttons as his feet began leading him to the treeline.

He stripped completely, tucking his clothes in a bundle under a familiar pine. He crouched, stretching out full-length, his back arching as he balanced his weight on the arches of his feet and the palms of his hands. He closed his eyes, centering his focus, and he began to change.

New sounds and smells bombarded him, the world suddenly seeming so different and bright and loud. A-buzz with life was the foliage around him, the sounds of insects chirping and night birds keening, the distant sounds of animals just waking up and other readying for slumber. His nostrils flared, picking up an intriguing scent.  He pressed his muzzle to the ground, sniffing at the mud. He growled with satisfaction as he found what he wanted and abruptly turned, tail held high as he bounded off into the trees. Nature had shaped him into a natural runner, and with a flash of fur catching his eye, it was with remarkable speed that he moved across the forest floor.

Just as he was closing in on the rabbit, a chilly zephyr brought an unfamiliar scent- a peculiar scent, for all that it smelled similar to _pack_ , there was a sweeter, underlying musk that should have been impossible. Female werewolves weren’t just extremely rare- they were virtually nonexistent. So nonexistent, only one had ever existed in recorded history.

The werewolf gene was inherited through the male line, passing from father-to-son. And considering how rare it was for even non-hereditary males to survive the physical agony of a bite and the first change, most women’s small and less robust frames brought about a hundred percent mortality rate. Until Brandon Stark was showing off for a cousin/playmate not long after his first transformation, accidently nipping her leg during their roughhousing. Somehow, miraculously, twelve-year-old Lyanna Snow made it through the fever and then her first change. She continued defying thousands of years of genetics a decade later when she birthed a son who proved to be a hereditary wolf, despite Lyanna swearing the father had been an outsider, a confession prompted by all three of the Stark brothers in turn being accused of siring young Jon.

The scent of a female wolf, especially one that smelled like pack, should have been impossible. His mother had been killed by mutts twelve years ago.

A flash of auburn fur to his right and he swung his head around, and before he had any other chance of coherent thought, he was bounding off, intent on his quarry.

He could feel his body loose and flowing with motion yet tense with anticipation, muscles contracted, ready to spring at the absolute opportune moment. The primal craving for the violence, for the brutal chase, stirred inside him, thrumming through his very blood. He was the hunter, the holder of instinct and skill passed down through the generations since the dawn of time, an ancestral imprint left on the very soul of the descendent. Ingrained into him until it was part of his being, as much a part of him as flesh and bone.

Thrill and excitement began to rise up in him. A shock went up his spine. His head began to swim with ecstasy.

He drew closer and closer, drawn like a helpless moth to the scent of musk and pack and strangely enough, wildflowers after a spring rainfall. If he truly saw her as a threat, he could have torn into her hocks and been done with it, but instead as he drew close enough to brush her tail, he leapt.

They rolled several times, wrestling for the position of top, and Jon managed to get the smaller wolf flat on her belly. He closed his jaw over the thick scruff on the back of her neck, bearing down his superior weight until the female went limp and still beneath him. He huffed approvingly, easing his hold to rub his muzzle against hers.

The change came hardly without notice, fur melting into hot, naked skin. He was hard and aching, sinking his teeth into the back of her neck and rolling his hips forward, rutting against her thigh.

God, she was wet. He felt it along his length as he rubbed against her, a low, approving growl rising in her throat as he sucked and worried with his teeth, drawing back to find a satisfying purple mark at her nape.

“Sansa,” he panted, the rocking of his hips picking up as his need grew, the head of his cock sliding and slipping against her entrance but never managing to penetrate despite Sansa encouragingly rocking back with him with every thrust he made.

“Wait, Jon. Wait.”

Jon did was he was told, lifting his body off hers and crouching beside her. She mimicked his position, reaching out to touch his cheek.

“Let’s do this right, Jon.”

xxx

A strange thrill ran through him as she brushed back his hair, baring the vulnerable hollow of his throat, lightly dragging a nail down the muscles contracting as he swallowed hard. Sansa pressed her lips to his throat, sucking at the skin, feeling his pulse racing beneath her lips.

He groaned almost involuntarily at the intimacy of her touch, his jeans tightening painfully as his sex filled with aching need, and he watched her every move as she traced the same finger down his cheek and jaw line, grasping his chin to draw his mouth to hers.

Jon moaned, obediently parting his lips as she kissed him, letting himself be pushed back to the bed, her tongue stroking against his in a way that had him trembling in desire. Trailing down his jaw and neck in heated kisses, she worked at the button to his jeans, pushing the material down his hips, drawing from him a guttural groan as she pushed her hand into his briefs and curled her fingers around the hard flesh of his arousal.

His head reared back, his back arching as she caressed him, his breath ragged and broken as he stared up at her, his eyes full of dark intensity and raw ardor. “Sansa,” he whispered throatily, his voice a near growl as she straddled him, rolling her hips against him. He grasped her hips roughly, pulling her to him as he pushed inside her.

Sansa’s lips parted in soundless pleasure as he filled her, the sudden sensuality blinding as she clutched at his shoulders for balance, his hands digging into her hips as he guided her, moving her above him.

Their lovemaking was ardent and frenzied, dizzying heat a palpable sensation between them. Jon felt the blood pounding harshly in his head, his body strained and tense, slick with sweat and aching for release as he lay back and let her ride him. He ran calloused fingertips down the silken texture of her legs, cupped her knees in his hands and met her urgent pace as he bucked against that gloriously welcoming heat again and again.

She whimpered out his name and entwined her arms around his neck, Jon rearing upward to return the embrace as strong arms wrapped around her hips, pulling her almost crushingly close. She found herself clinging to him, moving fervently against him as every powerful thrust sent their bodies jarring and the headboard slamming into the wall, the two of them locked so tightly she had no idea where she began and he ended.

His eyes locked on hers, the stormy gray of them so opaque with heavy emotion they seemed almost black and the gaze was mesmerizing, penetrating in a way that bespoke an intimacy that transcended even the desperate entwining of their corporal forms.

His hand reached up, brushing back her hair to cup her cheek, the gesture tender and echoing the emotional intimacy tangled between them, past and present. It was accompanied almost prophetically by the sudden clenching in her belly, an exhilarating coiling of a sweet tension building toward that final culmination.

“Feel it, Sansa, don’t hold back. Finish for me, let me feel you, the smooth, silken tones of his voice washed over her nearly as arduous a caress as the feeling of him inside her. And she found herself surrendering, her eyes involuntarily closing as she climaxed, a half-sobbed scream muffled as she bit down into his shoulder.

Her nails buried themselves into his back, raking down his spine, the pain on his part only dully noted as her completion set off his own. His head dropped back and his baritone voice reverberated in gravelly satisfaction, emptying inside her in harsh, shuddering orgasm.

Satiated, exhausted bodies slumped bonelessly against one another, entwined in a tangle of damp skin and naked limbs. Jon absently nuzzled against her neck, brushing a whisper of a kiss against her nape. They lay there quietly, bodies spooned together. Jon waited for the awkwardness to settle in, but it never came. Instead, Sansa snuggled closer and sighed.

“I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

She huffed out a humorless laugh. “Where do you want to start? Sneaking out of your bed and your life without a word, or not telling you I could change?”

Jon’s eyes closed, a lump rising in his throat against the memory. “Why did you leave, Sansa?”

“I wanted…at least I _thought_ I wanted, to get away from here, leave it behind and start over. The change came less than six months later. Robb helped me through it.”

“Robb knew?” Jon found he wasn’t angry, just envious that the pair had shared something so momentous and he hadn’t had a clue.

Sansa rubbed his bicep, hoping to soothe any temper that might flare. “I needed someone. Everyone always thought that if it was going to happen, it would have to be Arya. But it was me. I’m…I’m a werewolf, the only female werewolf in the world.”

“You’re Sansa. Just with something a little extra.”

Sansa turned over to face him, her eyes impossibly soft as they searched his face. “I never should have left you, Jon. I’m so sorry.”

“I know.” And he did know. He could feel her regret, her sincerity, feelings he chased as he leaned down to kiss her again. Sansa melted against him, parting her lips with a happy little sigh.

“We’ve got a lot to talk about, but for right now, I need to touch you.”

He gently rolled her onto her back, arms sinking into the bed on either side of them to support his weight as he leaned over her, slowly sliding his way down her body.

“Jon…” his name came out in a breathless whisper as he nuzzled against her skin, trailing his tongue between her breasts. She mewled softly, fingers digging into his scalp as she held his head in place, his mouth fastening over one erect nipple, the rough palm of his hand molding to the other. She arched into his touch, pushing her hips into him, urging him lower.

Jon obliged, his hand sliding between her thighs to find the wetness of her arousal, parting the folds of her sex as he slid his fingers inside her. Rubbing against her clit, she moaned, her hips arching against his hand and her nails digging painfully into his neck as he continued to suckle on her breast, moving his hand against her, the double stimulation too much for her to bear.

“God, Jon!” her head reared back, her eyes fluttering closed as he rubbed and teased her, soft sounds of pleasure spilling from her lips with every simulating touch.

She reached for his quickly hardening erection, pumping him in time with his strokes and he pushed against her hand, the two of them rocking together as their eyes met, her legs parting to greet him as he sank back into welcoming heat of her body.

He fixed her with a soft gaze in his eyes, “Sansa…”

“Mmm?”

His throat tightened. He couldn’t even care if he was begging, he needed to hear the words. “Don’t leave me again.”

“Never.”


End file.
